


Lessons in How to be Happy

by talesofsuspense



Series: Happy Steve 2018 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/pseuds/talesofsuspense
Summary: When Steve tells Sam he doesn't know what makes him happy, Sam takes it as a personal challenge.(or: 5 times Sam tries to make Steve happy and 1 time Steve makes him the happiest man in the world)





	Lessons in How to be Happy

**Author's Note:**

> for my first happy steve bingo fill: food (food is just a small part of this fic but whatever)
> 
> the world can always use some more samsteve. i was disappointed to see how low it was on the steve ships on here (below darcy/steve, are you serious?)
> 
> anyway, thank you to my wonderful friends @rocketsgun and @asiantonystark on twitter who helped look this over for me and were amazingly supportive. also shoutout to @tonyscaps and @starktonies who were also supportive even though i'm publishing this before they could finish reading (sorry guys).
> 
> any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

When Sam first met Captain America he hadn’t felt nervous, intimidated, or shy. He was confident in himself, yes, but  _ Steve Rogers _ made him feel like an old friend from the start. Maybe it was the way Steve could tell Sam was a soldier as well, Sam wasn’t sure, but he was thankful for it. So Sam let himself get wrapped up in the man, looked forward to the days when Steve would run past him, made sure to think of some movies, music, and books he thought Steve would enjoy. He let himself imagine that maybe, just maybe, the flirting Sam sensed that first day wasn’t just his imagination run wild. He always did have a weak spot for nice blue eyes and muscles that could rival his own. 

 

Sam didn’t really expect Steve to show up at one of his meetings. He had hoped, of course, because even if he maybe had a little crush on the guy he also knew that maybe more than any other soldier Sam had encountered, Steve was suffering from an ass-kicking dose of displacement. So he’d been pleasantly surprised when he saw the man leaning against the doorway, eyes flicking up to meet Sam’s once in awhile. When Sam made his way over to Steve after the meeting, conversed with him, trying to feel him out, he hadn’t expected Steve to be so blatantly honest with him. The casual tone with which he told Sam he didn’t know what made him happy produced an ache deep within Sam’s chest. He knew Steve didn’t want his pity or sympathy, that he was simply stating the truth because Sam had asked, because he trusted Sam. That didn’t make the knot that settled within Sam’s stomach feel any better, though. 

 

Sam decided right then and there that he was going to make it his personal challenge to help Steve find himself, find his happiness.

 

1.

 

The first thing Sam tried was motorcycles. He and Steve had hung out more and more after Steve showed up at the meeting. Most times it was unexpected, Sam would be making himself lunch and Steve would knock softly on his door. Sam’s breath always caught in his throat a little when he opened the door and watched Steve’s tug his helmet off, his hair all messed up with a small smile on his face. He always showed up on his bike though, Sam took note of that.

 

He’d tried taking Steve to car shows first. He thought maybe Steve’s love for his bike would extend to nice cars too. Sam himself didn’t know too much about them, but he could appreciate a nice shiny vintage mustang when he saw one. Steve didn’t seem to share his sentiment, though. Sam felt a pang of disappointment when he watched Steve walk with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, parading up and down the aisles of cars, feigning interest. 

 

The disappointment was short lived when Steve laid eyes on the few bikes they had at the show. Sam smiled when Steve’s eyes lit up, widened like he saw the most beautiful thing in existence. Sam walked up to Steve’s side as Steve let his fingers drift lightly over the leather seat of a Harley, “She’s pretty, huh?”

 

Steve’s eyes had flicked up to his then, pupils still a little blown, and he had smiled -- wide and gorgeous, blinding almost, “Yeah, she really is.”

 

After that Sam decided to focus his energy on what he knew Steve loved, his bike. It was obvious; Steve rode that thing everywhere he could, even in rain. So Sam asked him to take him for a ride on it. Steve was hesitant, like he was scared to share this with Sam. It didn’t hurt though, Steve’s hesitance, Sam understood it. He knew Steve was attached to this, it comforted him, one thing that tethered him securely between the past and the present; it was familiar, it was like coming home every time he straddled it and felt the engine thrum between his thighs. Still, Sam pushed. He wanted Steve to open up to him more, to let him in. 

 

Eventually Steve broke and Sam’s not even entirely sure if he won the fight or if Steve was just in an exceptionally good mood. Either way, Sam hadn’t complained or hesitated when Steve knocked hurriedly on his door at 5 in the morning one weekend, handing him a helmet with a happy, “Come on, Sam. Let’s go for a ride.”

 

When they were cruising down an empty, old highway at a steady 80 miles per hour Sam found himself shocked at just how happy it made him, too. It became a semi-regular occurrence after that. Once a week, whenever they could find the time, Sam would settle behind Steve on the bike and wrap his arms around his waist, holding on and letting out an excited  _ whoop! _ as the wind hit his face and the trees blurred past him. Steve laughed more after the rides started. He smiled as he looked back at Sam, even for a millisecond, and Sam always felt his heart flutter in his chest.

 

2.

 

The second thing Sam tried was art. He knew Steve was interested in it, even dabbled in some drawing and painting himself whenever he had been able to find the time. Sam figured encouraging him to get back into it, to give himself something to surround himself with would be good for him. Sam wasn’t artistically inclined himself, but he still found it therapeutic to scratch out his feelings on a sheet of paper. He imagined it was the same for Steve.

 

He took Steve to art museums first. They were fun, even if he didn’t know much about art. He liked seeing Steve interested in something. He watched as Steve’s eyes widened and narrowed from piece to piece, absorbing the new information. Sam imagined his mind reeling as he thought about what each of the colors meant, why the artist had chosen the style of brushstroke he did, whether the lighting in the painting was meant to make it happier or sadder. It went over Sam’s head for sure, but he loved the idea of Steve being in his comfort zone again. He knew Steve was overwhelmed by the amount of art, all the new pieces that had been created since he’d went down and all the classics that he’d never gotten an opportunity to see in person.

 

Of course, because they were them, that also meant a lot of teasing and few dirty looks from other museum-goers who didn’t appreciate their loud laughing in the European wing. They didn’t care though. Certainly not Steve, who would roll his eyes, salute whichever old lady he offended, and say in his most Captain America voice, “So sorry, Ma’am.” They’d go back and forth, pointing out the ugliest people in the paintings they could find, and telling each other that was them. One time Sam had pointed out a sickly looking man, laying dramatically on steps and said, “That’s you, Steve. I mean that with my whole heart.”

 

Steve had gasped with fake outrage, dramatically clutching at his chest with one hand, “Sam Wilson, you wound me. Is that truly how you see me?”

 

Sam had just snorted in reply, wrapping his arm loosely around Steve’s waist without thinking. When he realized what he was doing he’d frozen, unsure of whether it’d be more awkward to rip his arm away quickly or to let Steve be the one who pulled away. He didn’t end up having to worry about it, though, because Steve had just leaned into him, wrapping his left arm around Sam’s waist in return before pointing to a painting of a poor man strumming on a violin in a dirty alley and leaning in to whisper in Sam’s ear, “That one’s you.”

 

After that Sam took him to a Paint ‘n Sip at the smallest art bar he could find. There were still a few people who asked for pictures once they realized who Sam had brought with him, but they were all kind and Steve hadn’t seemed to mind. The theme of the night had been sunset, the example painting was the sun setting over a lake in a valley surrounded by tall mountains. Steve had said it was beautiful, already rapidly choosing and mixing his colors on the palette set next to his easel. Sam was more careful, choosing more slowly and with less confidence. He had asked Steve for some help, grinning when Steve had excitedly explained a mini Color Theory for Dummies session to him, shoving tubes of paint into Sam’s hands.

 

Steve was, as expected, a phenomenal painter. Sam had looked over at his painting a few times during the night, each time letting out a low whistle and shaking his head. He could see the care Steve worked at putting into his piece. He’d seen the careful brush strokes he made, the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sam had shook his head, a small smile on his face as he turned back to his own, much more inferior painting, “Calm down Bob Ross.”

 

Steve had looked over at him then, grinning before dipping his brush lightly in some black paint, pulling his fingers back over the bristles, and letting the splatters fly towards his easel. Sam had looked at him in shock, mouth hanging open as he spluttered, “Steve! Don’t ruin your piece!”

 

“Happy mistakes,” Steve had laughed, winking a little. Sam scowled at him -- of course he’d caught up on Bob Ross -- and Steve just smirked more. Then Sam’s throat dried up when Steve set his hand on top of Sam’s and said much too earnestly, “Yours is beautiful too, Sam.”

 

3.

 

The third thing Sam tried was movies. He planned it out more carefully than any of the others before. He waited until the drive-in movie theater was having a specialty week. The earlier showing was an action movie or drama, the evening showing was a romance, and then the night showing was horror. Sam only planned for one day, hadn’t known if Steve would like it for sure. Steve had loved it. They ended up going the entire week.

 

The first night they’d shown  _ Top Gun _ and Steve had watched, interested, and commented on the homoerotic tension he was getting from it as he had popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth. Sam had cracked up at that, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from his throat and had pressed his face against Steve’s shoulder, shaking with it until the need to laugh subsided. When he looked up Steve had been looking down at him, a wide grin on his face and a fond look in his eyes. Sam had just smiled back, sitting up straighter and putting his hand so his palm was facing up on the console between them. Steve had grinned brightly at him, laying his hand on top of Sam’s and squeezing. Sam felt the squeeze all the way to his chest.

 

The romance movie had been a cheesy rom-com, one of Sam’s not-so-guilty pleasures. Steve had blushed a little when Sam made teasing comments about how the corny jokes were totally ones Steve would make, but he had been happy, grinning and playfully shoving at Sam’s shoulder. At the end, when the guy got the girl, Sam hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d pushed up in his seat, leaning over close to Steve until Steve turned his head to face him and pressed their lips together. Steve had made a small noise in the back of his throat, pleased and a little surprised. Sam let himself grin into the kiss, reaching his hands up to cup Steve’s face when he started kissing back, softly. It was as good a first kiss as Sam could’ve ever hoped for and he couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night, especially not when Steve jumped at every single jump scare in  _ Friday the 13th _ , sending bits of popcorn flying and blushing when Sam laughed.

 

After that they moved their movie watching nights back to Sam’s house. They still went out when there were special showings, but mostly they stayed in. Steve would come knocking every Saturday, a box of popcorn in one hand and his bike helmet in the other. They’d always end up curled up together on the couch, Sam’s head usually resting on Steve’s chest, though sometimes Steve ended up laying all the way down, head resting on Sam’s lap. 

 

One night, Steve hadn’t shown. He hadn’t called either and Sam had been worried. He’d grabbed a bag, shoving a few bottles of beer, a bag of popcorn, and his best comedy movies and headed over to Steve’s place, picking up a pizza on the way. When he arrived he let himself in and found Steve on the sofa, staring blankly at the television, remote resting loosely in his hand. Sam had let the bag drop to the floor, setting the pizza on the table and rushed over to him. When Steve turned to him, Sam’s chest ached. His eyes were red-rimmed, he’d clearly been crying. His shoulders were shaking a little, chest heaving like he was holding in sobs. Sam just sat next to him on the couch, tugged at his shoulders gently until Steve let him reposition him so he was laying down, head resting on Sam’s thighs as Sam stroked his fingers through his hair. 

 

Eventually Steve had calmed down, sat back up and tucked himself back into Sam’s side, resting his cheek on top of Sam’s head. They ate their pizza and drank their beer as they laughed along with whatever Steve Carell was saying on screen. After that, Steve promised to always send Sam a “bad night” text when he couldn’t make the trip to Sam’s and Sam, in return, promised he would always come over unless Steve told him not to.

 

By the time Sam had left Steve had been smiling again and Sam himself had felt lighter, happier than he’d felt in a long time. 

 

4.

 

The fourth thing Sam tried was food. It had undoubtedly been his most self-indulgent attempt yet, but Sam figured Steve wouldn’t mind. Sam loved food, he loved cooking, he loved going out, he even loved staying in and watching strangely addicting Food Network shows. And he wanted to share that with Steve.

 

By the time they had all the ingredients mixed in a bowl, Sam’s kitchen had been a mess. There was flour all over the counter, some butter smeared against the drawer somehow, and a puddle of milk on the floor. Steve had been bent over, clutching his stomach laughing and Sam had thrown a bit more flour at him, grinning. He’d scooped some of the batter onto his finger and strolled over to where Steve was standing, “Come on, taste. Tell me if it’s good or not.”

 

Steve had stopped laughing at that, letting the grin fall just slightly before it had curled into a devilish smirk that made Sam shiver just thinking about it. Sam had just watched, entranced, as Steve’s blue eyes twinkled and he gripped Sam’s wrist, lifting his hand towards his mouth. Sam’s breath hitched a little when Steve had sucked the batter off Sam’s finger far longer than was probably necessary. Steve licked his bottom lip when he pulled off, smirking again when Sam had just stared at him, “Yeah, it’s delicious.”

 

Of course Sam had decided he needed to taste for himself, then, throwing himself into Steve’s arms and they ended up making out against the counter for at least twenty minutes before they both pulled away, breathless and grinning. Eventually the cake got baked.

 

On another occasion Sam had gripped Steve tightly on the back of his bike, telling him the directions to the restaurant directly into his ear from where he had plastered himself against Steve’s back. It had been a very romantic, very  _ Lady and the Tramp _ -esque night over pasta and wine. Sam had booked them a table on the rooftop so they’d could enjoy a quiet night. They’d ate their pasta with grins and hand-holding, so sickeningly sweet that Sam previously would’ve gagged seeing a couple like them. Still, as they laid in the lounge chairs on the roof, sipping from their wine glasses, and pretending to point out constellations they had no dreams of being able to see through the light pollution of the city, Steve had looked more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him. And Sam felt happier than he’d ever thought possible.

 

“I love you,” Sam had said then, suddenly, for the first time. He hadn’t felt worried though, he knew he loved Steve and he felt Steve’s love in return. So he simply laid there, watching as Steve turned to look at him with his bright blue eyes, his arm slowly dropping from whatever star he had been pretending to point at, cheeks a little red from the wind and the wine.

 

Sam had watched as a slow, pleased grin grew across Steve’s face. It stretched wide across his cheeks, making his eyes crinkle before it exploded into a full-blown smile. That same blinding smile that made Sam’s knees feel weak whenever he was standing and made his body thrum with a warm pleasure. Steve had gripped Sam’s hand in his own, running his fingers soothingly over Sam’s knuckles, still smiling before he spoke, “I love you too.”

 

Later that night, when Sam had put on the recorded episodes of Cupcake Wars and was eating a slice of cake, Steve pressed up against him eating his own, he wondered if Steve was happy yet. If he had gone beyond content and found that thing that made him feel truly happy. 

 

5.

 

The fifth thing Sam tried was dancing. That had progressed slowly, because Steve had refused to go anywhere even somewhat public at his level of inexperience. So they had started out slow dancing together in Sam’s living room, then Sam had dragged Steve to arcades and forced him into round after round of Dance Dance Revolution.

 

In Sam’s living room Sam had led the first few times, then he’d let Steve lead. He hadn’t had a preference either way, so long as he got to feel Steve’s warm chest against his own, got to hold Steve’s hand in his own, rest his head on Steve’s shoulder or his forehead against Steve’s. They  had stood together, swaying gently in the soft music playing from Sam’s record player and Sam couldn’t resist kissing him. Not rushed, but just soft and sweet. He had felt Steve smile against his lips and smiled back, pressing one last peck before going back to swaying with his head on Steve’s shoulder. It had made him wonder about his future, more specifically his future with Steve. It was as though in that moment he could imagine doing this again, but surrounded by family and friends and with rings on their fingers. It was a dream he’d allowed himself to indulge in more and more frequently as he and Steve had developed their relationship, learned each other’s quirks, pet peeves, and secrets.

 

When they went to the arcade a small crowd always gathered around, cheering one or both of them on as they stomped at the arrows, sweat gleaming on their foreheads. Steve had almost always lost -- Sam had the upper hand with his experience -- but in the end they always just grinned at each other, walking away with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Sometimes, though, Steve would surprise Sam by hitting every arrow exactly on pace, even as the game had continued to speed up and Sam could barely keep up. At the end of those rounds Steve would smirk and Sam would pout, gently punching him in the shoulder as Steve collected his winning tickets. 

 

On Pride weekend Sam had taken Steve to the parade. It was Steve’s first and Sam was more than ecstatic to have been able to share it with them. They’d both gotten bi pride flags painted on their cheeks and Steve had a bi pride flag, which he had waved proudly next to Sam’s rainbow flag, cheering as the floats went by. That night Sam had taken him to a club, watched him mingle with all the guys, watched him dance messily without a hint of hesitation among the strobe lights and pounding music, and Sam had felt immensely proud of him. Watching him dance -- face lit up with a happy smile, arms waving excitedly above his head as he jumped around with some guy Sam knew from group -- Sam couldn’t help but reflect on just how far Steve had come from when Sam first met him. Sure, he’d been sarcastic and kind back then, but there in that club he was so much more. He was openness, he was joy, he was a kind of freedom Sam imagined he had never felt in his life. So when Sam squeezed his way through the dance floor until he had been pressed up against Steve’s chest, grinding against him as the music blasted around them, it was only natural that he pulled him down into a hot, wet kiss that he attempted to put every emotion he was feeling into. Steve had seemed to understand anyway because when they pulled apart his smile was even wider, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat from the exertion and amount of people crammed onto the dance floor. Sam was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

 

+1

 

Steve always held comfort for Sam. He was what calmed Sam when he was anxious, when he woke from a nightmare, when he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the day. He held Sam every year on the anniversary of Riley’s death, telling him it was okay to cry, that he should just let it out. He told Sam he loved him every day without fail, even when he wasn’t home to say it in person. 

 

For as much as Sam had wanted to make Steve happy when they first met, Steve ended up bringing Sam his own happiness as well. He felt lighter around Steve, like he could breathe and move without feeling the weight of war or PTSD on his shoulders. Sometimes when he looked into Steve’s eyes it was like looking directly into the sun, but from underneath the surface of the ocean. It was blinding, like he was drowning in love yet felt completely at peace. He’d never felt anything like it and now that he had it he wasn’t about to ever let it slip away.

 

So standing where he was now, Steve’s hands in his own as they prepared to exchange their vows and officially belong to each other, forever, Sam couldn’t help but feel emotional. His eyes stung with a warm heat that made him sniffle. He said his owns vows and let the tears come, just smiled a little watery at Steve who was grinning back at him. When Steve began to speak, though, Sam felt like he had the wind knocked out of him.

 

“Sam, you’ve become my whole world. I think you know that. I certainly know I’m yours. When I met you we were both cocky, too confident and bumbling in our flirting. I wasn’t even sure you were actually flirting, just knew that I hoped to God you were. When I decided to go to one of your meetings it hadn’t even been in an effort to seek out help. It had been for you, specifically. I wanted to see you, get to know you. And ever since that day I haven’t stopped wanting to see you. I want to see you everyday for the rest of my life. I want to wake up next to you and fall asleep next to you. And if that isn’t possible I want to fall asleep to your face on video chat and wake up to a good morning call. I’ll hold you when you need to be held because God knows you’ve held me more times than I could count.

 

“You asked me, that day, what made me happy. Back then I didn’t have an answer and I told you as much. I was lost, trying to find my way in a new world. I was mentally at my lowest point since the first week of being here in the 21st century. But you stayed by my side. You pushed me to be more open-minded, to try new things, to not let my fear hold me back. You comforted me when I wasn’t sure I was doing all I could. You introduced me to this new world with care and love and everything good that I could’ve never thought of myself as deserving of. 

 

“And so now, Sam, I’m telling you that I have an answer for you. What makes me happy is  _ you _ . Seeing you, touching you, being able to love you and being loved back by you. Doing boring adult stuff with you and going on exciting adventures with you. Everything's better with you by my side. I’ll never leave you, you’re stuck with me now.”

 

Sam felt like he couldn’t breathe, but in the best possible way. He was full-on crying by that point, sure he looked really ugly. He could hear people in the crowd applauding. He just wanted to kiss Steve so badly then so he turned to the officiant and choked out, “Please, just hurry up and say it,” loving the way Steve’s laugh sounded after he said it.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr/twitter @wingheadd!


End file.
